there.
He nodded. “It’s been awhile. Do you remember me? I’m Rick Hershel. I used to live here.”
My eyebrows went up. “You look different with your beard shaved off.” Should I ask him in? Should I throw him out?
He smiled. “Yeah. Things were a little crazy last summer. Life’s starting to come back together now.”
I nodded in sympathy, leaning against the doorframe so he couldn’t push his way through. I didn’t want him thinking he had any rights to my house. He’d signed it over to me. From the dust balls in the attic to the body in the basement, the whole place was mine.
I waited for Rick to speak.
He shifted his weight back and forth, clasping and unclasping his hands. What was he so nervous about?
He cleared his throat. “You probably remember that I wasn’t too happy to sell this place.”
Cry me a river, Rick, I thought. I ain’t giving it back.
“I heard something like that,” I said.
“Well, a couple of people told me you’re fixing it up pretty nice. I thought maybe I could get a tour.”
I crossed my arms. “It’s not done.” Sorry, Rick. No mercy.
He gave a laugh. “Oh, no, that’s no problem. I just wanted to see how far you got.”
“Not very.”
His smile vanished. “I would really appreciate a tour.”
“I’m sorry, there’s nothing to see.” I reached for the door and started to close it.
He held up his palms, as if pleading. “You don’t understand. I feel really guilty for leaving a couple things undone. I was hoping I could take a look around and see where I could help out.”
“I’m not hiring right now.” Of course, I might change my tune if I didn’t get a call back from Lloyd in the near future.
“No. I’m not looking for money. Seriously. I’m going crazy because I didn’t have time to finish some of the projects. If you let me help out a little, I would sleep a lot better at night.”
Free labor. One of those things in life that was too good to be true. I couldn’t help but wonder about his ulterior motive.
“Which projects concern you the most?” I asked, just in case he was a godsend.
He hesitated. “Look. I don’t want you to think that I’m going to camp out here and fix up the house for free. There were a few details that I’d like to finish up. You know, like waterproofing the basement. I wrote on the seller’s disclosure that we had completed the project, but it’s only mostly done. If I don’t finish it, then come spring you’ll be taking me to court. I don’t need that. Believe me.”
I had to agree. With all the hype the waterproofing project had gotten, I’d be miffed when March arrived if there was even a hint of water in my basement. The whole rec room idea depended on the walls downstairs being absolutely watertight.
“What’s left to be done?” I asked.
“I can show you.”
I swallowed, thinking of my tools in the cistern. How would I explain that situation?
“You know, today really isn’t a good day. Can you come by tomorrow around the same time?” I said.
He gave a slow nod. “Sure. Tomorrow it is.” He turned to go, but stopped himself. “By the way,” he said over his shoulder, “if you’re ever interested in selling this place, let me know.”
“Sure thing.”
I watched him get into his brown coupe and drive off. Odd that scruples should be catching up to him at this late date. Of course, I knew firsthand the power of a guilty conscience. Either right the wrong or go crazy thinking about it. At least Rick had the opportunity to make things right. Some of us had to settle for going crazy.
I locked the front door, determined that if the doorbell rang again, I’d ignore it. I put myself on a twenty- four-hour deadline. If I didn’t unearth a body by this time tomorrow, I’d hand the basement over to Rick and tell him to finish the waterproofing project.
But if I did unearth a body . . . water in my basement would seem a minor problem.
41
Dorothy’s soup and my mid-morning snack had quit working. The stove clock read 12:45. I was famished. And the only thing that could fill the giant hole in my stomach was a greasy, juicy Coney from Sam’s.
I locked the back door and jumped in Deucey for the trip uptown. As I bounced across the tracks, I caught David in the rearview mirror pulling out of his driveway and onto Main Street behind me.
I pressed the accelerator hoping to make it through the intersection at Main and Maple. No such luck. I stopped for the red, tapping on the gas pedal as I waited for the light to change.
I looked in the mirror. I couldn’t see David’s face through the reflection on his windshield. That feeling of déjà vu crept over me. He was following me again. But this time I felt certain there was more at stake than a nylon strap hanging out of my trunk.
The light changed and I floored it. Deucey hovered in place while she gathered enough oomph to blaze ahead. I could almost picture David having to hit his brakes while my vehicle hesitated. I topped out at thirty, not wanting to attract attention from the authorities. Some car chase. I made it through the light at Rawlings Road and pulled into the strip mall.
David’s car turned in behind me.
I gripped the steering wheel, angled into the space nearest the door, and bolted inside. Maybe David was heading over to Goodman’s for groceries. He couldn’t possibly be going to Sam’s diner the same time I was.
I dove into a corner booth, as far from the door as I could get. In walked David, checking out the clientele. I scrunched down and pretended to look at the menu.
No good. He beelined for my booth.
“Hi,” I said as he approached. I tried to keep my breathing normal but ended up sounding like an asthma sufferer.
“May I?” He gestured to the seat across from me.
I swallowed. “Sure. Of course. Why not?” Under the table, my foot started jiggling uncontrollably.
“Have you dined here before?” David asked, perusing the menu that had been tucked behind the silver napkin dispenser.
“One time,” I said, wishing he’d quit stalling and get to the point.
“Any recommendations?” he asked.
“I’m having the Coney Deluxe with everything.”
He nodded with eyebrows raised. “Really? I had you pegged for the Chef’s Salad.”
Both legs bounced. “I’m expanding my horizons.”
“Good. That’s very good.” He caught my gaze and held it. “It’s important to have an open mind.”
I gulped, wide eyed.
“Hey, Tish.” Samantha smiled at me as she walked up to the booth, order pad in hand. “David.” She gave a terse nod in his direction. “What can I get for you?”
“Two Coney Deluxe and a chili fry.” David smiled at me. “I’ll split the fries with you.”
Sam wrote down the order along with our drink requests and disappeared into the kitchen. Obviously, she missed my eye signals, pleading for help.
David crossed his hands on the table between us. “I think you’ve been avoiding me, Tish.” His British accent took on a Transylvania twang.
“Avoiding you? Absolutely not. Just busy, busy, busy.”
“I went to your house today.”
“Did you? You know, I’ve been out campaigning for the open slot on the Historical Committee. I must have been gone when you came by.”
“You were home for Brad Walters. And Rick Hershel.”
“Who can explain it?” I tittered.
